Married to the Shadows Prince: Thrones and Desire

Flashback

Four years ago, the night before Prince Reynand's departure.

The chirping of crickets outside filled the silence, making Elara toss and turn in her bed, restless. It had been seven days since she arrived at Ravenswood Castle, but tonight an uneasy feeling gripped her tightly—especially with Prince Reynand set to leave for war the next day.

Suddenly, a soft knock echoed from the door. Elara stiffened, her brows furrowing as she wondered who could be visiting at this time. Slowly, she approached the door but hesitated, standing just behind it.

"Who is it?" she asked softly.

No answer.

Another knock followed, this time firmer. With fearful curiosity, Elara cracked the door open slightly, her heart leaping as she caught sight of Prince Reynand, standing in the dim light of the corridor.

Startled, she instinctively hid behind the door, suddenly self-conscious of her sheer nightgown. Heat rushed to her cheeks.

"Your Grace, what are you doing here at this time?"

"I have something to give you," Prince Reynand said, his voice unusually soft. "Open the door."

Elara peeked out again, her eyes narrowing as she noticed something strange. His cheeks and nose were flushed, and his gaze seemed unfocused, and distant.

'Is he drunk?' she wondered.

Gathering her courage, she opened the door wider—and there he was. Prince Reynand, shoving a bouquet of flowers straight ahead, directly into the now-open doorway. But Elara was standing to his left.

"Take it," he said firmly while lower his head.

Elara was taken aback by the colorful bouquet in Prince Reynand's hand. Though touched by the gesture, she couldn't suppress a chuckle at the sight of the usually composed prince acting so clumsy. A playful glint sparked in her eyes as she decided to tease him.

"Your Grace," she said, her voice lilting with amusement, "I'm over here, to your right."

Prince Reynand shifted, now facing slightly right.

"Ah, no, not that right," she giggled, covering her mouth. "A little more to the right, Your Grace."

The prince turned further, now almost spinning in place. Elara couldn't contain her laughter, her voice echoing down the quiet corridor.

"Too far, Your Grace. Now, a little to the left—"

Before she could finish, Prince Reynand stopped abruptly. His grip on the flowers tightened, a smirk tugging at his lips as he turned back to her.

"So… this is what makes you laugh?" His voice dipped low, smooth yet teasing.

Elara froze, caught off guard by the sudden change in his demeanor.

"Y—Your Grace?"

Prince Reynand stepped closer, closing the gap between them until Elara's back pressed against the doorframe, making her gasp softly.

He leaned in, his hand resting on the doorframe just above her head, his gaze locking with hers. That intense look made Elara's heart race faster.

"Do you know how much courage it took to bring you this?" he murmured, gently pressing the bouquet against her stomach, forcing her to take it.

"Your Grace, I—" Flustered, Elara accepted the flowers.

For a moment, it seemed as if Reynand wanted to say more, but he stopped himself, his expression guarded, before a small smirk tugged at his lips.

"This is a Ravenswood tradition. Knights and soldiers gift a bouquet to their lovers the night before heading to the battlefield." His smirk deepened. "Since I have no lover… Suppose I'll give it to you, then."

Reynand knew he couldn't stay here for long, not with Elara wearing nothing but a nightgown, which was pushing him dangerously close to losing control. Especially now, with the alcohol clouding his thoughts and his clarity slipping away.

His gaze lingered on the curve of her cleavage and the smooth, pale skin of her shoulder, visible through the translucent fabric. He was a prince, a knight, and he couldn't let his own lust defeat him.

Even though Elara was officially his, he wasn't about to force upon her the kind of marital intimacy she didn't desire. And the royal customs didn't allow royals to engage in such acts whenever they pleased. There were specific times for it, dictated by the alignment of the moon and the stars.

Suddenly, Elara pulled Prince Reynand into her bed-chamber and closed the door quickly yet silently to avoid making any noise. She had spotted the head maid walking down the corridor and knew she'd be in trouble if caught meeting with Prince Reynand. 

The head maid had sternly warned her to stay away from the prince's quarters and avoid any intimate contact with him outside the prescribed times, as it could disrupt his focus while preparing for war.

Elara couldn't even imagine the scolding she'd get if the head maid found her alone with the prince—especially while she was dressed in her nightgown. 

She always felt a shiver under Prince Reynand's cool, commanding presence, but the head maid's nagging was far more terrifying.

"Your Grace, the head maid is in the corridor. We'll be in trouble—" Elara's words faltered as a soft, warm kiss pressed against the back of her hand.

She turned her head sharply, her breath hitching at the sight of Prince Reynand, his lips brushing her skin again and again in a way that sent an unfamiliar warmth coursing through her veins. 

A nervous chuckle escaped her, but it was quickly replaced by a sharp intake of breath as the sensation spread like wildfire through her body.

"Y-Your Grace, wh-what are you—" She tried to pull her hand away, but Reynand's grip only tightened, and with one smooth tug, she found herself colliding against his chest and the bouquet fell from her grip.

"You're the one who grabbed my hand, and dragged me inside, when I was barely holding on to my dignity," Reynand murmured, his voice low and velvety, brushing against her ear. "Do you realise how dangerous this is?"

"Th-that's because the head maid… I…" Her protest died on her lips as he leaned down, his lips grazing a trail up her arm, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. 

A soft gasp escaped her as her knees threatened to give way, the closeness of his presence utterly disarming her.

She wanted to pull away—at least, that's what she told herself. But her body refused to obey, her arm lingering in his hold not because she couldn't escape, but because she didn't want to.

Reynand paused, his gaze caught by the way Elara bit her lower lip, her body trembling with nervousness. The sight stirred a memory of overhearing her conversation with her maid earlier, about still being afraid of him. A pang of regret struck him. 

Reluctantly, he eased his grip on her hand, the ache in his chest intensifying. His desire clashed with the tenderness swelling inside him, but he buried it, unwilling to push her further.

"I apologize…" Reynand murmured, his voice thick with regret. "I shouldn't have done that... not when you're still… afraid of me."

His steps faltered as he turned to leave, but Elara's hand caught his sleeve. The soft pull stopped him, her touch a quiet plea that made him ache in ways his mind surrendered to deceitful lust.